


A Christmas Most Consequential

by untiltheveryend



Series: 12 Days of Carmilla [1]
Category: Carmilla (Web Series)
Genre: 12 Days of Carmilla, Christmas Drabbles, Christmas cheer and murder mysteries basically. yeah., F/F, Murder Her For Christmas
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-13
Updated: 2015-12-15
Packaged: 2018-05-06 11:50:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5415860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/untiltheveryend/pseuds/untiltheveryend
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Countess Carmilla Karnstein is hosting a Christmas party at her Manor. All manner of eccentric guests have been invited, from the mad scientist Dr. LaFontaine and their research fellow (a rather reclusive man) to several scary looking members of the Cult of Hastor. Laura Hollis, humble journalist (in training), is wondering if she isn’t just a bit out of place. That is until they find a dead body at the dinner table, the cool-as-a-cat hostess loses her calm and guests start finding scraps of archaic and ominous poetry. Suddenly Laura has a mystery to solve, before someone else turns up dead.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Day One: Christmas Shopping

**Author's Note:**

> Let me be quite clear that this is verging on crack!fic. The setting is vaguely AU and the plot is, well, bizarre. None of this is my fault. 
> 
> Please enjoy.

_The Countess Karnstein invites you to her annual Christmas soiree at the Karnstein Manor. Guests are expected from the twelfth hour for drinks. Christmas Dinner will also be provided along with a variety of diverting activities._

Laura sighs. Of all the things that she could be doing on the night before Christmas, attending a party hosted by the most aloof and eccentric resident of the small mountain town where Laura had washed up after finishing her degree in Journalism is not high on the list. And yet, it occurs to her that if anything newsworthy is going to happen in the town over Christmas, the Karnstein Manor will be where it happens. 

She drops the invitation on the kitchen bench (thick, creamy card stock and illuminated text), and heads to the fridge. Nothing but milk and the same jar of pickles that she’s been staring at for six days. The invitation does say dinner, after all. And pretty much anything would be an improvement on Laura’s cooking skills which amount to little more than making pot noodles. 

That settles it then. 

She writes her RSVP note on a pad that her Auntie gave her last christmas (which has sepia pictures of puppies in the borders), with a purple gel pen. Imagining the expression of polite horror on Carmilla Karthein's face when she opens it is so delightful that it isn’t until she has slipped the envelope into the post box that it occurs to her that she will need something to wear to the party. 

She stands in the street next to the delightfully quaint red pillar post box, slaps a mittened hand to her forehead and says, ‘Heck.’ 

She wanders along the main street of the town, which is all encrusted in snow and fairy lights. A small shop on the other side of the street catches her eye and she crosses over to the warmly lit shop front like a moth drawn toward a flame. 

Inside the shop it is dim and warm. A large and ornate lamp sits on the cashier’s desk, casting a light that fades away before it reaches the back of the shop. The closer walls are also obscured, by racks stuffed with velvets, furs, scraps of frothy lace and faded tulle. 

‘Hallo,’ Laura murmurs to the old lady hunched over the desk. The lady grunts in reply.

Laura tugs her mittens off her hands and slips them into her pocket. Her hands feel small and fragile in the stale air of the shop. She turns and runs her fingers lightly along one of the racks. There is a kaleidoscope of textures under her fingers, _rough-smooth-silky-rough-again._

Her fingers catch on a small button and she pauses. The button is attached to some deep red velvet. The shade is so dark that, in the dim light of the shop, it almost looks black. She pulls the fabric out of the crush of garments on either side so she can see the shape of it. It is a sweet dress, neckline high and collared, sleeves and hem trimmed in simple lace. Despite the lush fabric, it seems almost plain in comparison to some of the fur coats and jewel encrusted ball gowns that it shares a space with. 

She touches the rough fabric and lets her fingers linger over the small button at the back of the neck that had caught her finger. Who is she to argue with fate?


	2. Day Two: Sleigh Rides

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little late, sorry! Day 3 will be up on time I promise :)

In reply to her puppies and gel pen RSVP, Laura receives a handwritten card that informs her cooly that she will be picked up at the eleventh hour and transported to the manor. This news is both a relief (she was starting to think she was going to have to walk) and also a source of anxiety. The note doesn’t specify what manner of transport will be used, and she can’t exactly imagine that the Karnsteins own anything as bourgeois as a Land Rover. A stretch limo, maybe. Or a small to medium private plane. 

Every new possibility that she imagines makes her more nervous than the last. 

It turns out that the truth is even more terrible than anything she imagined (except perhaps the private plane, which would have been a logistical nightmare). It turns out that she is being whisked away to the remote and extravagant Karnstein Manor in an actual freaking sleigh. 

The sleigh is driven by a white haired man who calls Laura ‘Fraulein Hollis’ and bows at her when she opens the door to her apartment. She is suddenly very glad she blew half of her most recent pitiful paycheck on her new velvet dress, even if she is going to have to cover it up with her shabby outer clothes as they will be travelling in an open freaking sleigh. 

Laura hops up into the sleigh to join three other passengers already tucked in under heavy woolen blankets. She gets nothing more than glimpses of pink cheeks and noses, tucked inside woolen hats and scarves. 

The ride is exhilarating. The white haired driver maneuvers the sleigh expertly through the streets of the town to collect several other passengers before they head out on the snowy road that heads north into the mountains. The teamed pair of horses picks up speed to a trot, and the cold breeze makes Laura’s eyes water, so the landscape blinks in and out of blurriness and sharp clarity. It is beautiful in a chilly sort of way. 

They arrive at the manor gates quicker than Laura imagined they would, only the tip of her nose numb from cold. As they round the corner and the manor itself comes into view, Laura’s mouth slips open in awe. She has never visited the Karnstein Manor before and she hadn’t imagined it quite so imposing. 

If anything, manor seems like too small of a word to describe the residence at the end of the drive. Castle might be more appropriate. What kind of manor has turrets? 

Laura doesn’t have time to ponder the question, because they are drawing up in front of the house with a spray of feather-light snow. Laura untucks herself from the sleigh and then pauses to fondle the nose of the horse on the right. She breathes in the dusty scent of the horse’s coat and closes her eyes. 

Then she takes a deep breath and turns to face the unknown.


	3. Day Three: Christmas Drinks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a loose interpretation at best but *shrugs*.

Inside the manor, and divested of her faded outerwear, Laura is ushered gently into a large room that is draped heavily in brocades in rich tones of red and green. None of it is as dark as Laura’s dress which seems to shift between looking red and looking black, depending on the light or the angle, or the mood she is in. 

Laura skirts around the edge of the room, gripping a delicate flute of champagne like it is a lifeline. The room is full of people standing and murmuring politely to one another, each one more curious than the last. 

Laura is so distracted by one woman’s choice of attire (a stiff collared gown that seems to be constructed entirely of lace and boning) that she sidles into another person. 

‘Oh, sorry!’ Laura says, backing hastily away. Or at least, she tries to back hastily away. The person that she bumped into has gripped both her arms in an iron grip. Laura manages to twist so she can see the person’s face. The first thing she sees is a cloud of curly hair and a pair of loudly floral glasses. 

‘Hello, my dear,’ the woman greets her, with the air of someone who has run into an old friend. 

‘Er,’ Laura says. 

‘You seem nervous,’ the woman says. She releases her grip on Laura’s arms, but before Laura collects her wits enough to move, she takes Laura’s free hand with both of hers. 

‘Uh,’ Laura blinks several times. ‘Who are you?’

The woman ignores her, staring down at where she is gripping Laura’s hand. She glances up at Laura from underneath her cloud of hair. 

‘Have you ever considered supplementing your diet with bull’s testicles?’ The woman asks her, serenely. 

Before Laura can reply (with a hard no, for the record) someone else bumps into their conversation. 

‘Come Marjoree,’ they announce solemnly, prying Laura’s hand out of the woman’s and ushering her away into the crowded room. 

Laura stumbles after them mutely. Her head is spinning, so she takes a fortifying sip of champagne. 

‘That’s better,’ Laura’s kidnapper says, once they have moved into the centre of the room. 

‘I don’t suppose,’ Laura says tiredly, ‘That there is any point in asking who you are or who Marjoree is.’

Her new companion laughs. ‘Sure there is,’ they say. ‘I am Doctor LaFontaine, but just call me Doc. And Marjoree is my Aunt actually, but really it was just the first name I thought of since I don’t actually know you. I thought you needed rescuing though, most people do once the Seeress gets a grip on them.’

Laura blinks rapidly at this rush of information. ‘Thank you, then?’

‘You’re welcome,’ the Doctor says. ‘What is your name, by the way?’

‘Laura,’ she tells them faintly. 

‘Well then, Laura. Would you like to hear a story?’

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [12 Days of Carmilla](http://ellianderjoy.tumblr.com/post/134547679931/its-that-time-of-year-again-last-year-i-ran-a). Check out the [tumblr tag](https://www.tumblr.com/tagged/12-days-of-carmilla) for other great works over the next 12 days!


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